Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (21 page)

He came forward and grabbed her upper arms in a strong grip, a look of rage filling his storm-ridden gray eyes. His grasp was firm, but it did not hurt—he was proving his superiority, that he had the control in their current situation. Without a doubt he had only to release a little more pressure to cause her a great deal of pain. His actions were meant to intimidate her. She was not easily cowed and glared back at him, daring him to do his worst.

“Are you suggesting you are not pure, Lady Charlotte?”

She shrugged. “I’m merely pointing out that there are so many things that can taint a lady’s view on life.”

He released her and paced angrily away.

“There are so many young women you could marry. You haven’t given me an adequate reason for why I have to be that unfortunate woman.”

He stormed back toward her, his face only a few inches away from hers. He was clearly seething. “Because I prefer to marry a woman I despise.”

She gasped, taken off guard by the honesty. Who in their right mind would ever want such a thing? “I think you mad, sir.”

“No more than you. It won’t matter once we’re married. After we make the obligatory appearances around Town, you’ll be sent to my cottage in Yorkshire.”

“I will not be shipped off.” She was shouting now and stopped to take a calming breath. She could not allow him to get under her skin. He wouldn’t matter, and her marriage would be a moot point once she paid a visit to the marquess. She had to remember that.

Mr. Warren gave her a dispassionate smile. “You’ll do exactly as I bid.”

“Would you even try to like me as a friend?” She wanted to know for the sake of curiosity. Surely there was some redeemable quality in this man.

“You are not a friend, madam, you are to be my wife; they are two very different things. I do not care to have a loving relationship with the woman who only needs to bear children for the sake of the title.”

“You’re a callous, cold man.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said matter-of-factly. “There is nothing you can say to change this outcome.”

“You’re right, of course.” She’d not let him believe she had a plan to change that. An ill-formed plan, but at this point it was better than nothing.

Mr. Warren seemed taken aback by her assent. He gave her a sharp look. Was he looking through the lie and seeing her deceit? Her stomach balled up into a knot as she waited for him to say something.

“Finally, we agree on something.”

She released the breath she’d been holding.

“Then there’s nothing else to be said. Shall I bid you a good day, Mr. Warren?”

“I will pick you up at precisely ten on Sunday. I’ll be in an open carriage, so we can ride to church together.”

“I always attend with my grandmother.”

He raised a hand to stop her complaint. “She’ll arrive with your father. This will be an important day and also the first day the banns will be read for our upcoming wedding.”

No, the banns would not be read.

She ducked her head, afraid her expression would give away her intended deception. “Until Sunday, then.”

“Good day, Lady Charlotte. And please ensure you are not late.”

“I will do my best to make sure you’ll never have to wait for me again.”

With one last distrustful glare, he left. Charlotte slouched back on the sofa. Her time was running out. She had to find another viable option so that she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life with Mr. Warren.

Drastic times called for drastic measures.

Marriage to the marquess was looking like the better choice. Why hadn’t she said yes and eloped when he suggested it? Her biggest question was, had he been seriously suggesting that as a solution? There really was only one way to find out. She’d have to steal out of her house tonight to see him again.

Chapter 12

Lord B
^____
has finally shown his true colors. I never thought he’d be the type to publicly ruin someone, but I am proven wrong by his most recent escapades at Lord and Lady C
^____
’s annual summer party. I’m disappointed that more scandal hasn’t yet been revealed from the most talked-about house party every season—surely there is something to be ferreted out. All in good time, dear readers. All in good time.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
August 1846 “My lady, let me go with you. It’s not safe for you to be out alone so late at night. You can’t go by yourself,” her maid, Sophie, said once again.

Charlotte squeezed Sophie’s hand as she took the unassuming cloak that would aid in her midnight jaunt. She couldn’t allow Sophie to come this time in case any of the other servants saw her accompanying Charlotte. She would not endanger her maid’s position.

“Miss, I’m worried about your safety at such a late hour. I came with you the last time, let me accompany you again.”

“Oh, Sophie, you’ve been my confidante all these years.” Charlotte hugged the woman who wasn’t more than two years her senior. “But you can’t go with me. I’m leaving this life behind, and I might find it too difficult to do so if you are with me.”

She was positive the marquess wouldn’t turn her away.

“No one in their right mind would let you leave like this. What will your father think of me when you’re not to be found come morning?”

She had told Sophie what she planned. And had given her specific instructions should her father find himself in a rage and sack any of the staff that worked closely with her. If the marquess turned Charlotte away, she intended to travel abroad. But before she left London, she would ask the marquess’s help for any servants that required it. She could not predict how her father would react when he heard what she had done to escape a marriage she never wanted.

“You know what to do should you find yourself in difficulty.”

“Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine. It’s you I worry about.”

Charlotte pulled Sophie into a hug. “I’ll miss you dreadfully. But should everything turn out in my favor, as I hope, I’m going to send for you.”

“You’re too kind, miss.” Sophie’s arms wrapped around Charlotte in a brief embrace.

“I’ve known you most of my life, Sophie. I won’t ever forget all you’ve done for me.”

They stared at each other for a minute.

“I hope you can trust this gent. I don’t want to see you hurt. And I really don’t like what you’ve read to me about him in the rags.”

“I have a good feeling about this, and my instincts have never let me down.” Charlotte smiled and squeezed Sophie’s hand. “Besides, it’s better to leave now than to wed that awful Mr. Warren.”

“I don’t like him any more than you, miss.”

Charlotte threw the cloak around her shoulders and cracked open her bedroom door. There wasn’t a soul about. With one last look at her maid, she pulled up the hood, slid through the door, and crept down the hallway.

She hoped the marquess wouldn’t send her back home once she explained what she had done.

*   *   *

A knock came on his study door. “Come,” Tristan called out.

“My lord, you’ve a visitor in the kitchen.” A wry look of amusement was on his valet’s face.

Tristan raised one brow. “Has she been settled in?”

Dixon nodded.

“Does my sister know that anyone is here?”

“No, my lord. I came straight here upon her arrival. I was locking up the house for the evening when she knocked upon the back door.”

Tristan stood and buttoned his vest. As he unrolled his shirtsleeves, Dixon came forward, plucked the cuff strings from the desk to help with the cuffs of his shirt, and then assisted him in straightening his rumpled clothes.

“Be sure none of the servants are about, Dixon. I want complete privacy this evening.”

“I’ll ensure nary a soul is about, my lord.” Dixon bowed and left to do as he was bid.

Tristan had been expecting Lady Charlotte to visit him, as her letter had implied. He had in fact noted the arrival of her family carriage earlier in the day when he’d been out running errands. He hadn’t seen her, but he’d known she was back in Town.

He strolled down the hall and headed toward the kitchen. The door was ajar so he pushed it open.

Lady Charlotte had her back to him, her hands outstretched over the coals that were cooling in the grate.

“We really should stop meeting this way.”

Charlotte turned suddenly, her cloak clinging to her form and dripping from the rain she’d been through on her way to his house. She took a few tentative steps in his direction. Was she unsure about her welcome? He’d secretly worried about her since her last letter. He shut the door behind him and came far enough into the room that they stood at arm’s length from each other.

“As you know, I had no choice.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“One might wonder why you’re here in the middle of the night.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “You know precisely why I’m here.”

Charlotte pushed the hood of the cloak away from her face.

“I’m not sure if the problems you create for me are good or bad.”

Why couldn’t women seek him out for a simple friendship, just as Jez had? It irritated him to no end. Was he worth so little as a man? He should take it as a compliment that women threw themselves at his feet on a regular basis, but when it seemed he was only good for bedding women that wanted a walk on the wilder side of life, it started to grate on his nerves.

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Charlotte.” He shook his head as he stepped forward—only a foot separated them now. “We have laid the foundation for a long friendship and you want me to destroy that so you don’t have to marry someone you dislike?”

“In this instance, it would be a friend helping a friend.”

“So naïve.” He caressed the side of her face before dropping both hands to her throat so he could release the frog clasp on the damp cloak and remove it from her shoulders. He took the heavy, wet material and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Why don’t we go to a more comfortable room? You’ll need something to drink that’ll warm you from the inside out, you’re soaked right through.”

She nodded her agreement.

He took her hand and led her through the house to a comfortable sitting room. He bade her to sit on the long sofa with a motion of his hand and went to the sideboard to pour out a small amount of brandy.

“Tell me what you couldn’t tell me in your letters.” He handed her the tumbler. “Here, drink this. It’s just enough to warm you but not hamper your judgment.”

“Thank you,” she said, and drank back the contents in one swallow. He took the glass from her and set it on the sideboard before finding his way back to the sofa and settling in next to her.

“Genny was having an affair with Lord Barrington,” she said in a rush. “I was forced to stay in my room when it was first discovered. And my father insisted I stay there until Genny finally left.”

“So that’s what prompted your father to attend the summer party?”

She nodded. “It must have been a great shock when he found out that my chaperone was engaged in an illicit affair. Now he thinks that if I marry Mr. Warren sooner it will save our family from more gossip.”

Of course the old man would think that. Goddamn it. Why did everything have to move so fast when he was enjoying the slow seduction between him and Lady Charlotte? He supposed he couldn’t keep at it forever.

It was either ruin her and face a duel with her father—there was no question in his mind the old man would call him out—or marry her. Though her father might still take aim with his pistol. And it was said that Ponsley had excellent aim.

“It might salvage your reputation to marry sooner rather than later.”

“I cannot—”

He placed his finger over her lips. “Shh,” he whispered, not wanting her to continue because he knew perfectly well there was little choice left for her.

Her lips were soft to the touch, so soft he rubbed his thumb over the bottom one, parting her lips.

“Tristan,” she whispered. “Ruin me, it’s the best option I have. The only option I have. I will not marry that man, and my father won’t listen to reason.”

God, he loved hearing his name come from her lips, her soft breath brushing over his thumb. He pulled away and stood up from the sofa.

“Do you know where your cousin is?” He paced in front of her, one arm behind his back and using his other hand to gesticulate. “How will she fare now that she is whispered about in society as though she’s a pariah? Do you understand the repercussions of ruin?”

“I will come into my inheritance in a few years. The funds will see me well settled; my cousin is not so lucky. Yes, I have always understood the repercussions of my ruin.”

He stopped suddenly, took her shoulders in his hands, and brought his face level to hers. His hold was gentle, he didn’t want to truly frighten her, just make her understand what her plan would mean for her future. “What do you intend to do before you have your inheritance?”

When she didn’t answer, he continued, “You hadn’t thought that far in advance, had you?”

“My father will not turn me out. He might send me away, but he will not turn me out.”